Angry
by Aliathe
Summary: Sawada Atsuko is an angry child, bitter and resentful. Atsuko is an angry teen, curling inward and lashing out. Tsuko is a young woman, given up on anger, who finds that when you've been through a ton of shit, then stuff just stops bothering you so much. And it certainly feels nice not to be bothered for once. [gendbend!all] [dead!fic]
1. uno, dos, tres

**Summary:**

 _Sawada Atsuko is an angry child, bitter and resentful._ _Atsuko_ _is an angry teen, curling inward and lashing out. Tsuko is a young woman, given up on anger, who finds that when you've been through a ton of shit, then stuff just stops bothering you so much. And it certainly feels nice not to be bothered for once. [Gendbend!All]_

 **Disclaimer** :

 _I don't own KHR!, or the cover picture._

* * *

Sawada Atsuko is an angry child.

Who gets, well, angry.

A lot.

It seems like most of her days are spent in an annoyed, irritated haze, until it builds up and up and up and up until it's too high and everything spills over and she's just-

Angry.

To be fair, there's a lot for her to be angry at, rightfully angry at, throughout her childhood.

.

.

.

 **Age 0 -**

That _man_ , that _man_ who does _not_ deserve to be called her _father_ , her _dad_ , her ' _Tou-san'_ or whatever other cutesy nickname Nana probably insisted on cooing into her infant ears.

That _man_ just leaves.

Like, what the hell?

You just _leave_ your new-born daughter and tired-out wife in a hospital after a _day?_

Nana tries 'explaining', of course, later, when Atsuko's older and demands to know why her male parent is never around.

(Atsuko has to ask, bluntly, if he'd dead before Nana finally gives in and consents to tell her about him.)

'Explaining' with fancy words and soothing euphemisms and dreamy sighs and earnest vouches for his loyalty, love, faith, strength, blah-blah-blabbity-blah.

Hah.

Atsuko may have been slower on the uptake than she'd like in her younger years, but what Nana spouts is a familiar spiel that she's heard many times before, in many different variations, all boiling down to the same label.

"Excuses."

She hates excuses.

And they're far from being the only thing she hates.

Learning to detest something, to be so utterly disgusted and outraged by it's presence…

Once Atsuko got her first taste of bitter, _powerful_ hatred, she's loathe to let it be.

.

.

.

 **Age 1-**

That _man_ has the nerve to show up at _her_ house.

To invade _her_ territory.

Atsuko toddles steadily to the door, clambers carefully up on the footstool Nana had foolishly left out unattended again, and twists open the doorknob and _pulls_ , with a grunt of effort and a glimmer of pride.

A blond, foreign stranger is standing on _her_ doorstep.

Carrying a fluffy, garish bouquet of so many roses they threaten to spill onto the floor.

Grinning a stupid grin that sparkled with obliviousness.

Atsuko frowns suspiciously at the stranger, and prepares to unleash a warning growl.

Or warning bite, in case the growl isn't enough.

"Hey, my little Tuna-fish! Hahaha, you look just like your mother and me, eh? Taking after the old man?"

Okay, straight to the bite, then, because:

Her name is not any fish. Much less that yucky pink slop Nana always has stored in the cabinets.

She did not _belong_ to anyone. He had no right to call her 'my'.

Insult her height, and you're dead.

Then she pauses, and rewinds what the stranger says.

'Mother and me'.

'Taking after the old man'.

Ah.

So _this_ was the _trash_ that had unfortunately been her sperm donor?

[In Italy, another being that reeked, survived, and thrived on hatred sneezed. "Tch, stupid trashes, can't do anything right," Xanxus muttered, for lack of anyone else to blame.]

Well, the sparkles and obliviousness certainly explains how they could've hitched up.

Atsuko says, with complete seriousness that nearly looked comical on her angelic features, her first sentences.

"Hate you. Go away, stupid."

Then she promptly lets go of the door.

It slams shut, right in his idiotic face.

Good.

She fervently hoped that his ugly roses dropped dead as well.

(Nana finds out, and lets in the 'deadbeat bum'.

"Your tou-san is called Iemitsu," Nana scolds.

Nothing can sway Atsuko from persistently calling him 'that deadbeat bum'.

It's the only way that she'll even acknowledge his existence for the two weeks that he stays with them, so they let it slide.)

.

.

.

 **Age 2-**

Nana goes shopping with friends, again.

She drops Atsuko off at the park, again.

"Be a good girl and play here while kaa-san goes shopping, okay, Tsu-chan? Kaa-san will be back in three hours. You'll be fine, right?"

A pat on the back, an absent-minded one-armed hug, a shining beam, and she's off, humming a little nonsense tune.

Leaving an unattended two-year-old child alone in a park for hours, again.

.

.

.

Sometimes Atsuko wonders if Nana is any better than that _man_.

But while she's fond of stoking hatred's fires, she supposes that Nana, at the very least, is a secure anchor in her life, (usually) providing food, (almost always) providing shelter, (mostly) providing clothing.

Nana occasionally forgets she has a daughter, has a responsibility, and forgets to cook for two.

That's okay; Atsuko rummages through the pantries, cranks on the stove, and self-teaches herself basic cooking skills by age 2.

Nana occasionally forgets to check on her daughter, to make sure she's actually inside, and forgets to call her in.

That's okay; Atsuko burrows under the roots of her backyard tree, buries herself amid a nest of leaves, and falls asleep outside dreaming dreams of hating locked doors and hating cold chills and hating humid heat.

Nana occasionally forgets to buy new clothes for her daughter, what her daughter's sizes _(age)_ are, and forgets to mend the rips.

That's okay; Atsuko wears what she has, cultivates an image of ratty rebellion, and glares with a _promise_ at anyone who looks at her the wrong way.

She'll never change.

For better, or for worse, even though her current treatment of Atsuko is that of a particularly airheaded owner caring for a beloved pet when she remembers too.

(Emotional treatment is bordering on outright neglect.

Atsuko learns to not expect anything other than a smile and pat when she runs to Nana with a new scrape from bullies.

Atsuko learns to fight back, to get angry and rage and _hate_ , until she stops getting scraped, because Nana doesn't care, doesn't notice.

It must be nice, Atsuko thinks enviously, to live in a world of your own perfection.

Where nothing else matters.)

So while Atsuko won't hate Nana like she hates that _man_ …

Well, there's still a reason why she's never called Nana 'kaa-san' after she learned what her name was.

.

.

.

It takes five hours before Nana comes to pick her up.

Atsuko's tired and hungry and a bit cold, so she lets Nana carry her home.

She's glad it's a night when Nana didn't forget to cook.

.

.

.

* * *

 ** _#_**

 ** _#_**

 ** _In which Fem!Tsuna's Hyper Intuition activates early, she hears how many excuses and lies people tell each day, and basically hates the world while acting somewhat like Hibari._**

 ** _Or maybe it's just her ingrained bullshit-detector manifesting very strongly._**

 ** _(Inspiration from Discoabc's gloriously au-what-au-what-is-this-canon-you-speaketh-of 'Kyoko.')_**

 ** _Atsuko = 'Honest Child'_**

 ** _And when I write Gendbend!All, I actually mean Gendbend!All-Decimo-Guardians-and-General-Generation. Kinda? I dunno._**

 ** _Will update sporadically in segment of 3._**

 ** _So, next update is ages 3-4-5, and luckily I have 5 written out, and I know how I want 3 and 4 to go._**

 ** _#_**

 ** _#_**

 ** _-Review. Please. I NEED REVIEWS. Like, rawr.-_**


	2. scraps

**Yup, this is dead. Time to accept the inevitable truth that I have no idea where I'd planned on going with this.**

 **As a peace offering, and a farewell gift, here's what I have lying around my Doc Manager after being written up ages ago:**

 **.**

 **.**

 **Age 3-**

Back at the park, this time on a reasonably breezy and not-too-chilly spring day.

 **Age 4-**

 **Age 5-**

"You're wrong," Kyoya's saying now, in a strange tone of voice that's less sharp than usual, that's sounds a bit strangled. "You're acting all wrong. Stop being such a herbivore. You're a carnivore, Sawada Atsuko."

Atsuko just blinks muzzily, feeling like her mind's too fluffy _but that's alright because everything's kinda numb right now and oh hey does that tree look fuzzier than usual I wonder why-_

Something shiny and silver impacts her heavily on the side, and she totters unsteadily before falling heavily to the ground.

Blinking again, only now she's seeing sky, Atsuko makes no move to get up.

The ground felt oddly comforting in it's solidity and stolidity; it only swayed slightly when she tried to stand and walk, right?

Raven-feather fringe invades her vision, and she blinks for a third time at the nebulous gray flowers blooming in Kyoya's face.

Silly Kyoya.

Why's she looking so weird at her?

She's still Atsuko.

"The fire," her friend starts, words soft and low and gaining speed with each breath, hysterical speed spawning hysterical rage that crashes down likes a force of nature.

Which, really, she kinda is like.

("The fire you make dance.")

All the adults in Namimori are scared of her, but then again they're all stupid and weak and _hate-_

No, no, no.

Why hate?

("It's warm. It's always warm and almost hot but it never burns you or me.")

Hate is bad, Atsuko, she chides herself.

("You're cold now, and empty.")

Then she remembers to tune back in to what Kyoya was saying, because it's also bad to ignore others.

("Show me that fire that makes you superior with your hate and my rage.")

She doesn't know why it's bad just that she knows it is and she has to follow that insistent nagging voice in her head even if it's frankly really annoying and whiny and sounds deliriously similar to a distorted version of herself-

("I do not associate with herbivores. If you persist in acting like one when I know you're a carnivore-")

What was she thinking again?

("-if you don't draw out that fire that makes you strong like me, that proves you worth my time-")

Memory gaps like that are getting more common, and, frowning faintly in consternation, Atsuko misses the rest of Kyoya's words, up until:

"-then I'll just _bite you to death._ "

This is familiar, very familiar, and no amount of annoyingness and whininess can prevent her mouth from opening automatically and spouting off, "I'd like to see you try, little chickadee."

Kyoya's eyes darken with the sort of vicious glee that seems even more familiar but she can't quite place it and she barely manages to throw herself to the side in time to dodge another snapping snake of quicksilver pain, reflexes taking over into the routine of dodge and duck and drop-kick-

... what reflexes?

Atsuko pauses at the worst possible time, suspended in midair with one leg sweeping up to curve right back down into a slam.

Stumbling, she falls awkwardly, landing with something definitely twisted.

She wants to cry since it really hurts, and _would,_ if it weren't for some more insistent voice _(voice-what-voice-there-is-no-voice)_ telling her in a no-nonsense way that she is not to cry, that pain is all mental, that she is strong and not weak and Hibari Kyoya does not respect weaklings just like she _(I-me-who-what)_ does not respect weaklings in fact she _hateshateshates-_

"Weak," an imperious voice declares above her, a ring of regret going overlooked, because...

She is suddenly mad, irrationally and unreasonably angry, full up on vim and vigor and _spite_ that clears her mind to a knife-edge and shakes off the phantom dizziness plaguing her body and seizes her heart with raking talons, sending worms of white-hot rage wriggling down her spine and writhing into her muscles that are **on fire on fire on fire** -

 _and burning with incandescent flames so unmistakably bright orange, an eye-blinding neon sort of orange, one that repulses and attracts in uneven pulsates._

Her body spasms once, twice, then she arcs her back like a lightning strike just electrified her nerves and she shrieks like the banshees of death themselves.

Atsuko doesn't care since now she can think straight again and she thinks very quite rather firmly that what she cares about is sending a straight punch into that sneering raven-feather girl's smug idiotic face because Kyoya is _wrongwrongwrong_ Atsuko is **not** _weakweakweak_ Atsuko is  strong and Atsuko is **mighty** and Atsuko _hates with her soul lit ablaze in defiant streamers that scream rebellion to the heavens themselves_.

.

.

.

Hibari Kyoya can sense about five bones shattering upon first hit through the agony of a million glowing-pain needlepoints and knows she'll wake up with a gigantic ugly spiderweb of obsidian spun carelessly over her porcelain doll visage.

None of that matters, nothing at all.

The carnivore is _back_ and whatever illness paralyzing her is clearly gone so finally she isn't alone anymore.

She hasn't been alone since she met that younger carnivore _(just because carnivores have no need of companionship doesn't mean that partnering doesn't make hunting easier and life better and chests all peculiarly and pleasantly warm)_ , and reverting back to loneliness at the top of her kingdom, even for barely half-an-hour, was an experience she has no wish to repeat soon.

She's found strong pack, and she can spar and _fight_ , and Hibari Kyoya never wanted anything more out of stretching her wings to fly in the sky.

Sawada Atsuko stares gloweringly at her, gaze unfocused and watching something not present, hunkered over with huge, heaving breaths and nails digging into palms, somehow not staggering despite the fatigue from fending off the illness and her two prior major injuries.

Fire burns the air, licking restlessly around her fists, at her forehead, circling with deceptive delicateness up her arms, wreathing her shorn-short curls in the spat sparks of a dying sun.

Her packmate is beautiful.

Kyoya struggles up from her knees, breathing just as raspily with blood specks flecking the spittle she coughs out, and her back is a sore of festering aches from being shoved forcefully into a tree trunk with roots deeper than hers.

Her packmate immediately swivels her head towards her, locating and locking-on within milliseconds, eyes still unfocused, but now cloudy with a fierce, dangerous kind of feralness.

Breathing, breathing, breathing.

The younger carnivore is waiting to see if she'll attack or submit, Kyoya realizes.

Well, then...

"You've got a long way to go until I'll submit to a younger carnivore," she whispers, and propels her limp vessel forwards through sheer power of will, pulling back her lips to show all her teeth. "Respect your elders, young one."

Packmate _roars_ and _rears up_ , slashing mercilessly and leaving trails of smoky afterimages, curls stiffening with an orange-ish sheen like the proud spikes of a lion's mane, gender be damned to the seven spheres of Hell.

 _Excellent,_ she wants to purr, she wants to sing like the skylark she is inside.

Kyoya can't wait until Sawada Atsuko is strong enough to subjugate her, Kyoya can't wait to teach her growing up into that fearsome strength in her fire.

Because _man_ , there's _nothing_ Kyoya likes better than a good bloody fight.

.

.

.

 _(Nothing now, nothing then, nothing... there?)_

.

.

.

 **Age 7-**

In time, Sawada Atsuko's growl of, "you're pissing me off," becomes as notorious as Hibari Kyoya's catchphrase, "I'll bite you to death."

People still prefer to brave _her_ instead of the Disciplinary Committee's Head, though, since at least Sawada gives a warning instead of a blunt, certain fact.

She's also the one more likely to ignore them and not attack unprovoked.

Their friendship is the thing of tag-team nightmares, and more than a few secret yuri fantasies.

Rumors aren't helped by their hungry hisses of "beautiful" and savage snarls of "smoking" during their legendary battles.

.

.

.

 **Age 8-**

.

.

.

 **Age 9-**

"A regular ball o' sunshine," he agrees sarcastically.

Off to the side, Yuu scoffs.

"More like a vibrating ball of pent-up rage and tension," she mutters, flicking through the newest pile of student essays to grace her desk, adding, "a regular little touchy psycho, maybe."

 **.**

 **.**

 **Goodbye, farewell. I hardly knew thee, dear readers.**


End file.
